


A Chemical Solace

by Mouse10



Series: Of Oak and Laurel [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Use, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, M/M, No Underage Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Teen Sherlock, University Student Sherlock, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse10/pseuds/Mouse10
Summary: Sherlock Holmes leaves secondary school and goes to university ahead of schedule and has to learn to cope with classes, students, alcohol and drug use and a new guy with a fancy convertible.This is Sherlock long before John, but to John is where we are headed, eventually.





	1. University Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This AU is set in about 1982. There are no cell phones, no internet. Students at Uni barely use computers and computers are really glorified typewriters (word processors) using dot matrix printing. Unless you are a computer science major.

That which you mistake for madness is but an overacutenss of the senses. Edgar Allen Poe.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was a beautiful campus, the college built in the 1600s. Located in central London, with lush green lawns and ancient stone buildings. Students here were the real high achievers, from some of the most illustrious families in the country, or the world. Sherlock Holmes thought this would be a real chance to access some of the finest university research facilities and programes in the world. He was right.

Sherlock felt his first year at university went by uneventfully, even though there was some concern from his older brother. There is always some concern from his brother. 

But his brother did the same thing at his age, leaving secondary school early. Having completed all the requirements and levels quite easily and once getting to university, Mycroft made quite a splash there, as one so young. But the brothers, although similar, were 2 vastly different people. His older brother Mycroft was considerably the more social one, with episodes of friendliness even, adaptable and much more likely to fit in. During Mycroft’s university tenure, he did well academically, joined some societies, and left there having made friendly connections. These, as well as a few well-connected family friends, led to a very promising entry level government position. 

Sherlock himself excelled considerably in secondary school. By the age of 14, he also had exhausted all the resources the school could offer. He excelled so much in science that unlike his brother, Sherlock had written and published 2 research articles (small articles, published in small, but respectable science journals). So, the family had the same hope for Sherlock, that leaving the secondary school would provide a chance to socialize with more academically advanced students or possibly, a cohort of students who had similar interests and passions. They hoped that the younger Holmes would have a chance to thrive academically as well as socially. Just like his older brother. 

Well, one could dream.

The first serious issue that came up during Sherlock’s early childhood was during a trip to the US. A trip to NYC with Mummy, brother and nanny. During this holiday, Mummy could not spend too much time with her boys, because she had parties to attend until quite late. Sherlock and Mycroft spent considerable amounts of time with each other, and Nanny, of course. This made a perfectly respectable holiday quite tedious. Nanny was a kindly middle-aged woman, no nonsense in her bearing. She had never married but made a career in childcare and the Holmes boys had been her charges for almost 5 years now, since the death of their father, when Sherlock was 1. Nanny had a very good sense of humor and the patience of Job. She had to. 

During his holiday in NYC, Sherlock was hellbent to see if tossing a coin off the Empire State Building could bring about the death of an unsuspecting pedestrian below. Head trauma. Kept his plan pretty quiet, so initially not much was made of his obsession with coin collecting and stuffing his pockets with coins of various sizes. Luckily, he was much too short at age 5 to reach the top of the wall. When confronted by Nanny, the explanation was that it was only a hypothesis to be tested. Of course there was no guarantee that anyone would really be killed. Mummy saw no concern, no harm done, but Nanny was quite outraged and left their employ. Nanny had tolerated days of refusal to eat, playing the violin all night long, the extensive bird skulls collection, the books on clinical anatomy and Chinese water torture and the missing household chemicals found later under the bed, but this was really too much.

They were on the next plane home. 

Sherlock then endured a barrage of psychological testing, but there was no diagnosis, no consensus and no agreement among the professionals. Various words and phrases were tossed around such as ‘sociopathic tendencies’, ‘antisocial’, and ‘genius IQ’. Mummy was actually reassured, there was no substantiation of pathology, no real crimes committed, no one hurt, yet. Keep him busy, was the advice, good nutrition, rest, and they might try more opportunities to socialize with other children. A branching out, if you will.

The family was given the opportunity for medication trials, but without any concrete diagnosis, the offers were declined. After all, the Holmes family was full of artists and eccentric characters, Rudy coming first to mind. And a colorful life did not always equate with pathology. They would, from now on, just proceed with more caution. And a bit more supervision.

The next situation occurred years later. While Sherlock excelled at school, the headmaster did encourage mummy to let him leave secondary school and go onto university early, just like his brother before him, but for very different reasons. The school administration felt they could not offer him any more than they already had. His grades were good, but his behavior was a problem. He was disruptive, he argued with the professors, and often did not attend classes.

After the death of Carl Powers, a child whose untimely death made all the papers, the staff felt that Sherlock became incorrigible, obsessed with the case. He missed classes, eloping from school in order to present his theories to the local police. He was convinced that foul play was involved in the death of the young swimmer. He started to obsessively carry newspaper articles around with him. He would try to convince just about anyone to hear him out, believing that it was not merely a fit in the water, but pre-meditated murder. Carl Powers was targeted. Something about his trainers. Sherlock’s ardor and his logic did not matter, though. The school was annoyed, the local police were annoyed, mummy was annoyed. 

Mycroft was just embarrassed, because his younger brother’s actions made the newspapers, as well.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
So, Sherlock was shipped off to university at 15. New town, new people. Fresh start. With his birthday falling in January of the school year, he’d turn 16 mid way through the first year. 

Mike was his roommate during that first year and they got along very well, due much to the fact that Mike was very easy going and got along with most people. Mike tolerated disarray, the occasional noxious smell, and could sleep through anything. Jovial, friendly, and with an easygoing manner, he just ignored some things, kept out of the room when Sherlock was in one of his moods and the year went speeding by.

“I guess you are rooming with the child genius, yeah?” Mike heard from just about everyone. “What’s that like, mate?”

Mike liked Sherlock. He was pretty awed by his brilliance. “Actually, it’s surprisingly OK.” Was Mike’s answer any time he was asked. 

Sherlock felt that classes were an annoyance, really. He decided to read music, violin especially, but all of the classes he signed up for were science and philosophy and language, much to the confusion of the music chair. He excelled in Latin, French, German and Greek. He did go to class, such as they were, all except advanced chemistry, showing up only for exams, much to the dismay of the professor. He read the textbook the week before term started, and with a photographic memory, did not feel the need to show up for the lectures. 

Mike was a friend. When Sherlock did eat, he could eat alone or with Mike. Mike did not require him to make polite conversation. With his well-known saint like disposition, Mike attracted some nice people, Molly being one. Sherlock did not mind Molly much. She was smart, he could talk to her and Mike about science and they both did know about his being published author, so they looked at him with more than a little awe. 

So, despite the concern from his family, the first year went by and friends were made. He did well in his studies. Sherlock did not hate university, it was easy. It was nice to be away from home. Although he did not join societies like his older brother, he had plenty of opportunities for pastimes, hobbies. Some people like running or mahjong. Sherlock was fond of his violin. And drugs.  
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````


	2. Sebastian

One could say that Sherlock’s first year at Uni passed uneventfully, except for the drugs. Which kept Sherlock’s mind occupied when school (still) could not. Not anything too dangerous, really, and to be perfectly honest, he did not like to have his senses dulled. He had started smoking cigarettes in high school just to displease his mother and college was a perfect chance to try a few more things to displease her further.  
So, marijuana and pills were the start. At 15.

Sherlock tried to justify to himself that the pills and pot helped him sleep, which had always been an issue. Usually, he slept just a few hours each night and this was the norm for months on end. But if he got involved in a special project, there were times when he did not sleep for days. Occasionally there were times when he just could not turn his brain off. So, he liked to think that his recreational drug use was medicinal.  
And after all, he told himself, as a recreational user, he could stop at any time. Really. 

Mike touched nothing more potent than a pint or two on the weekends. Mike and his contacts were of no help in acquiring drugs. Sherlock had to actually extend himself and make a few outside social connections in order to get what he wanted. In this case, though, he did not mind the effort. 

Before Sherlock had a steady supplier, Mike witnessed his agitated pacing and irritability when he ran out. 

One day even Saint Mike expressed concern. “You know Sherlock, for someone so smart, drugs are not the wisest path you could take.” He said, in an uncharacteristic fit of boldness. 

Sherlock was not offended, “I’m smart, not perfect.” Came the soft reply and he left the room. 

That’s how Sherlock met Sebastián. All that was needed was to ask a few discreet questions and keep an ear out for a little gossip and he understood who in the residences he needed to approach. Seb was a tall blonde tennis player with blue eyes and broad shoulders who always seemed to have a group of people with him. Sebastian would sometimes tuck his shoulder length blonde hair behind his ears to accommodate the headphones of his Walkman. Usually smiling and laughing, he was never alone. Seb became Sherlock's steady connection. After that, he did not seek to find out where Seb got the drugs and at the time, he did not care. 

Sebastian was always accommodating and always friendly. On several occasions, Seb even approached Sherlock, to let him know that he had just gotten something in, in case he was in need. Another time, Seb asked him to come up to his set with a group of people, presumably Seb’s friends, to get high. Sherlock declined, quickly mentioning something pressing. Sherlock was not in the habit of getting high with groups of people. Sherlock was not interested in socializing. Or friends.

Sebastian was also very accommodating because he knew Sherlock was good for the money. Thankfully, Mycroft made sure he had plenty of money in his account. Sherlock always paid Seb right away. He did not want to ruin this congenial relationship and supply pipeline. He never had to wait long for what he asked for.


	3. Victor

When summer term came, Sherlock decided to stay to take an extra class. This would delay his returning back home for a few more weeks. He could then put off his inevitable reunion with Mummy and he would not have to deal with her continuous social obligations, that would occasionally require his attendance. Like it or not, his mother was a socialite, and always had countless societies, charities and foundations that she felt bound to. After the death of his father, Mummy always found a reason not to be at home. She had a full social life, often in the company of billionaires, celebrities and occasional heads of state. Occasionally she would drag her boys along and Mycroft found it much easier than Sherlock to sail those waters. Sherlock decided to take only one class. He wanted to have some time set aside for his own research and time in the lab. Regardless of what they were reading, all students were required to take a world religion elective, as a punishment, Sherlock reckoned. Students were also required to move to a new dorm to consolidate the university for the summer.

The campus was almost quiet in the summer with fewer students. Older students were roomed with younger students and often new transfers found summer to be an ideal time to start at a new school. There were no university sponsored activities, so the students over the summer had to entertain themselves and make their own fun.

Sherlock found that he almost liked the quiet of the summer term. There were less students, less noise and more time for his own thoughts. He had no roommate yet, and was hopeful that he would not be paired with one. 

While moving his boxes in, he recognized only a few faces from the past year. With about half of the rooms still empty on his floor, maybe no one else would move in, and it would be quieter still. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

During the regular terms, the natural science students were often mixed with students from other schools such as pharmacy and medicine as they were all taking similar classes, but when you see the same people all the time, familiarity can bring friendship or annoyance, as the case may be.

Sherlock was annoyed to see a bright and bushy tailed Molly step in front of him at the doorway after enduring religion class, blocking his exit.  
Molly was smiling as she sidestepped her way in front of him. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and her eyes were sparkling. He tried so hard to hide his annoyance and to not look at her with disdain, because he did know that people were not fond of that. 

‘Hello Molly, I am assuming that you want something, and that is why you are preventing me from leaving this class.”

Still smiling, although now a bit dimmer, she looked at him quizzically, ‘I thought you needed to borrow my notes for the classes you missed.’

Sherlock’s family was not religious. Both he had Mycroft had gone to a few weddings, funerals and they did attend Christmas Eve service with Mummy every year. Sherlock derided religion. He had not yet been able to roust himself to get out of bed early and had already missed 2 classes.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” He sighed audibly, there was no way getting around it, he needed the notes. “Come up to my set, maybe I can copy them down quickly.” Sherlock did not feel like walking to the photocopier in the library.

As Sherlock and Molly crossed the common, with Molly practically skipping to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. Passing the gymnasium, the campus was a beehive of activity with students carrying boxes and armfuls of clothes and books. As this was the first week of the summer semester, students were still consolidating into the only residence hall that would be open. 

They got wordlessly into the elevator and did not speak until they arrived on the second floor. Sherlock felt that not talking was very difficult for Molly, who likely was suppressing some inane conversation for his benefit. When they walked into the common room, they saw a group of three people having a conversation. Sherlock recognized the girl from across the hall- Natalie, bleached blonde, friendly and not from the city. 2 parent household, no siblings. Provincial. Nothing interesting there.

But what was interesting was the other 2 people in the common room. Another girl, long dark brown hair, tall, with big teeth, who smiled and talked a lot. Discrete articulation. Speech pathology major, most likely. Sorry no, not interesting. 

Only one interesting thing in the common room.

A guy, tall with light brown hair that was almost blonde but not as light as Natalie’s bleached hair. He was smiling with straight white teeth, had a bit of a tan in early June and a friendly disposition. American, from the accent, with a dad in ?government-something diplomatic or financial given the straight posture, Italian shoes and expensive watch.  
Apparently the couple had just come from a ?lunch date-did people really do that? He wondered. From the body language they had a ?good time or maybe she was just being polite. And she thinks he is cute, but just wants a ride in his ?red ? convertible. 

Sherlock thought that obviously, he and Molly were interrupting a parting of the ways after a lunch date. How ?quaint. Is it quaint? Why is it quaint? The dark hair girl touched the bloke’s shoulder. A ?friendly gesture, with the shoulder being a more public body part. But, eye contact. She glanced down at her shoes, still smiling, they said their goodbyes quickly now that they had been interrupted and she crossed the room and went out the door. It occurred to Sherlock that quite possibly, they were interrupting a kiss.  
Molly was the first to acknowledge them and the obvious interruption. 

“Oh! Sorry! Hello! Are you new? I’m Molly and this Sherlock. He lives here, I don’t live here, I live on the floor below”. She was stammering and blushing, really Molly, Sherlock thought.

“Oh hi, I’m Victor. Yes, I’m new. I thought I’d start in summer term and ease myself in.” he laughed. ‘It’s nice to meet you.” 

Victor answered Molly’s question, but looked directly at Sherlock, smiling. Sherlock was surprised with such direct and sustained eye contact from this new person. He felt like he was under some scrutiny, when that was usually his role. 

He felt a pressure, a tingle up his spine, knowing full well that this other person was assessing him as well. And then Sherlock realized he was on a mission for the as yet unobtained class notes. Right.

“Well that’s very nice, goodbye.” Sherlock said, taking Molly’s arm and to her surprise, they barreled past the group, to Sherlock’s room. 

It was apparent to Molly that Sherlock had no roommate, and just as well, because every surface of the room was covered. The second bed was pushed back against the opposite wall and covered with open text books and note books. The 2 desks were utilized, both with flasks, petri dishes and graduated cylinders covering the surface. Notes pasted to the walls, taped. Scrawled. There were no clothes on the floor and Sherlock’s bed was neatly made, though.

With wide open eyes, Molly was very surprised at the state of the room, “It’s nice.” She said.

Sherlock crossed the room to find a pen, “You don’t have to be polite Molly, I know it’s awful.”

“No, she said. “It’s just very... you, that’s all.”

Taking just a minute really, he quickly scanned the notes, jotting down a few salient points and handed them back to Molly.

She looked at him surprised, as she took the notes.

“Done. Really yes. I have a pornographic memory.”

“What did you say?”

“Photographic. I have a photographic memory. And we’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodbye, Molly.”

Molly seemed to be slightly flustered and her cheeks were red. “Thanks, happy to help.” As she left, Molly turned and hesitated in the doorway. She looked briefly at her feet, as though she was about to ask him something. Sherlock panicked, and deducing that she might be about to ask him something uncomfortable, quickly cut her off. 

“Sorry, my mind is elsewhere now, please leave. “

he waved her away with one hand.

“Oh, ok. Bye.” Disappointed, Molly exited the room. As Sherlock turned to shut the door, he was surprised to find a new body in the doorway where Molly just had been.

I will never be left alone, apparently. He thought. It was Victor, the new student. 

“Hi, um, again.” Victor was smiling. Friendly. Warm. Eye contact. Sherlock felt this Victor was an intense fellow. Taking another few seconds, Sherlock decided that Victor’s father is in government, not finance. He is well traveled. Here now in London for the duration. His dad is at the US embassy. Sherlock took another second or two, glancing at Victor’s hands and decided he had the fingers of a string player, so, majoring in music also. He also smelled nice.

Rather than bowl Victor over with these deductions, Sherlock decided to say something neutral, “You seem to be a very… friendly… person.” Sherlock stuttered, suddenly uncomfortable again.

Sherlock felt there was entirely too much smiling going on here, on the part of Victor.

“Is there something wrong with being friendly?” Victor asked.

“Um, no.” Sherlock could not help but wonder if Victor was this friendly with everyone, maybe. A phrase of Mycroft’s kept going ‘round his head, ‘When someone wants something and wants something from everyone.’ And he could not shake it. 

“Well, look I’m new in London and really it’s not my first trip here, but last time my Dad was too busy to do any sightseeing. Well, if it’s not too much trouble maybe you could give me a tour of the campus sometime. You know, the tour the neglected summer students don’t get.”

He added, “I have a car here on campus.” Sherlock already knew this fact. Maybe he felt this would impress Sherlock, who notoriously could not be impressed.


	4. Another Brick in the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a warning for formatting problems at the end of the chapter. Still trying to fix it. Thanks.

Sherlock hesitated before answering Victor. He took a few seconds to process this request. 

While Sherlock was processing, Victor told him that he was from the US and lived with his father. His mother had passed away when he was young. His father traveled a lot for his job at the US embassy, but Victor hoped that they would stay in England for a longer while. 

Sherlock reconsidered the offer, taking note of Victor’s Italian shoes, straight white teeth and perfect tan. He really did not know anyone from the US and quite honestly found Victor intriguing. 

He told Victor he’d think about it and closed the door.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Later that week, with no school work on for the next few days, Sherlock decided to take a chance see if Victor was still interested in a tour of the campus. After being here one week, maybe he felt he did not need one anymore.

As Sherlock opened his door to walk into the hall, he heard voices in the hallway and a room door closing. Loud music was now coming from Victor’s room. Pink Floyd- Another Brick in the Wall. He walked up to the door and knocked.

Music off. Quiet.

“Who is it?”

Sherlock was certain he heard 2 voices, but now all was quiet. Hesitating, with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and thinking that this was a bad idea, he turned to leave.

Then he heard shuffling of someone moving something away from the bottom of the door. Sherlock realized that very likely Victor had wedged a bath towel there to keep a distinctive odor from escaping into the hallway. The door opened a crack and one bloodshot eyeball peeked out. The eye ball sized him up and relented with signs of recognition and the door opened widely. 

Victor leaned on the doorjamb with his left arm and with a bright smile, looked Sherlock up and down with a strangely amused expression, cheeks flushed. Sherlock wondered if there was a joke he was just not getting. As he gets a better look at Victor, he realizes both of his eyes are bloodshot. 

“Hey!”

Apparently reassured that Sherlock was no one threatening, and laughing, Victor let him in to the room. 

Sherlock anticipated another person in the room, but looking around did not see anyone. But Victor backed up into the room and looked at his feet, then looking at Sherlock for a reaction, reached to open the closet door, and laughing, another person hops out of the closet-Sebastian.  
“Hello. Sherlock.” Seb said with a bright smile. “Hello Sebastian, I see you are making friends already, or maybe business connections.” Sherlock wondered if Seb make friends with Victor or did Victor make friends with Seb? It took Sherlock months to figure out that Seb sold drugs. He looked between them both and again wondered if he was missing something and what it was. Sherlock was annoyed but he didn’t know why. He was confident that things did not go unnoticed in front of him. “You two move fast.” He said, honestly surprised by this turn of events. As Seb stepped out of the closet, he was red faced and laughing. He had a bong in his left hand, the smell of marijuana very apparent now that Sherlock was in the room. Sebastian stood there laughing in his worn trainers, jeans and a tye dye t shirt. Sherlock thought that Sebastian looked like summertime. He even had a bit of sun on his cheeks, even though it was June in London. “I see you know Sebastian.” Victor said. “Everyone knows Sebastian, apparently.” Sherlock sighed. Seb was not known to be an academic achiever and Sherlock was just then reminded of how many times he did not see Seb either coming from or going to class. Sherlock wondered briefly if he was not enrolled there as a student. “How long have you been in the closet?” Sherlock asked. “Just now, when we heard a knock at the door.” They were both giggling now. “Why hide in the closet there’s no one on this floor but us? I don’t even think the RA is here. Honestly, I haven’t even met the RA. Do we even have one? “Annoyed again, Sherlock decided that he had enough of their idiocy. “OK, sorry, I’m interrupting. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Sherlock turned to leave. “Nah, don’t leave.” Victor put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, clapping it firmly and looking Seb directly in the eyes. “Sebastian was just going, weren’t you?” Seb laughed, “Yes I’m going.” and places the water pipe on the desk, and repeats dreamily, “Going, just stopped by for a minute. Hey, remember let me know if you need anything, right, Victor? You have my number. And you too, Sherlock, of course. Bye.” `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````


	5. The Holmes Boys

Sherlock would occasionally visit his brother’s office in central London, not far from the university. Usually it was because of a summons from his brother, rather than a social call.

“How’s school going?” Mycroft was impeccable and polite as ever behind an enormous brown desk. At the tender age of 23, he had a large office and what appeared to be a fleet of PAs, none of which were present at the time. 

“Fine, boring. Lightly attended. Summer. People. How’s mummy-" Sherlock acknowledged that Mycroft kept better tabs of their mother than he did.

“She is doing a bit better than expected….” Mycroft trailed off. “As for you, it would be really refreshing if you stayed out of trouble this school term?” It was a question, a suggestion and a request. 

“Oh, just for the term, then?”

“No, for the foreseeable future, please. I’m am afraid you’ve developed mummy’s predilection for substances. Regrettably, that is a family weakness and I would like to avoid a repeat of last year, please. I’m tired of being worried about you. Please don’t let me regret letting you into university.” Sherlock took note of just how many ‘pleases’ there were in Mycroft’s request. 

Sherlock slumped down in his chair and spoke a bit slower than his usual. “Last year was not really bad. I did pass all the classes. May I remind you that you did not let me into uni, you ran out of options.” He looked pointedly at Mycroft and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, but last year you did burn through money at a frightening clip, and I don’t really wonder where it went, I know where it went. You cannot hide you drug problem from me. And you might consider making better choices of your associates.”

“It is hardly a drug problem. I won’t deny being a drug user. But purely recreational. Ce nest pas grave*, Mycroft. I can handle myself."

“And I hope you are not smoking.” 

“It feeds the snakes in my brain.” He was back to his rapid-fire sarcasm and dismissiveness. 

Mycroft sighed and looked down at the folders on his desk, he was very tired at this point. ‘Well, at least your sense of humor is intact.” 

“There was not much you could do with me, was there? I was done with what they could offer me at school, what were you going to do with me? I was far too young for a gap year in India.” Sherlock changed the subject, there was no use beating a dead horse. ‘Things have been quiet at school. It’s insufferable. I was so hoping uni would be entertaining.”

“Well seeing as most of your peers are still in secondary school and you are now out playing with the big kids, please consider yourself lucky and try to reign it in.”

"Let me have a biscuit.”

“I don’t have any.” 

“Top desk drawer on the right, the strawberry ones. You bought those because last time I ate all the gingernuts, but the jokes on you, I like both.”

Now it was time for Mycroft to change the subject. “When are you coming home for break?" he asked. 

“I don’t know”, he said, crunching on biscuits. Sherlock made an attempt to put his feet up on the desk, but Mycroft countered by edging his feet off with his stapler and Sherlock's trainers hit the floor with a thump. 

“Conversation with you is always so delightful."

“You know when I’m coming home, why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

Mycroft heaved a world-weary sigh, “Oh, I don’t know, it passes the time. Please go to class. Don’t get too bored. “

“You have a lot of rules, Mycroft.” Sherlock turned on his heel and went out the door. His older brother fully expected the door to slam, but it was shut gently. 

Once Sherlock was well out of the room and down the hallway, Mycroft spoke quietly to just himself, “And you little brother, do not have enough.”


	6. The Walk

Sherlock and Victor walked around the campus, passing magnolia trees as Sherlock pointed out various buildings, the Chapel, the multi gym, tennis courts, library. The boys had an easy conversation. Victor showed Sherlock where he parked his car. It was indeed a convertible, but not red like Sherlock thought. It was blue. A blue Fiat with a soft top. There is always something. 

‘You know what they say about Fiat, don’t you?”

“No, what do they say?”

“Fix It Again Tony.” Victor laughed.

Sherlock smiled and chuckled slightly under his breath. 

“So, you do smile.”

“What? I smile.”

“No, you don’t. You are very serious. You might be the most serious person I’ve met here.”

“Well, I have lots on my mind.”

“Do you?" Victor looked at Sherlock more directly. “You know what they say about you, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“People.”

“What people?”

“Well, everyone talks.”

“Well, it seems that people do little else. You know Victor, people have talked about me all my life. I think that is just the way it is for me. Despite my best efforts, I do not just ‘blend in’. And I really, do not care what ‘they’ are saying.” Sherlock signed. “Other people’s opinions matter very little to me.”

Victor looked at him blankly. Things were very quiet. 

Sherlock relented. He looked away, then back to Victor and said. “Ok, what do they say?”

“That you are a child genius. You left secondary school at 15 and you already have a year in here at Uni. You have published research in science journals.”

Sherlock really laughed now. Victor was quite stricken, looking at him very seriously. He had never seen Sherlock really laugh this loudly (or as long) before. Victor was not sure what was so funny.

“Victor, that’s common knowledge.”

“Well, they say that you can tell all about a person just by looking at them.”

“Well yes. It puts people off, though. So, I try to suppress it and not say anything. People tend to dislike me for it. People think it's rude.”

“No, it’s more like a super power. Well, maybe you just are looking too much. You could just stop looking.”

Sherlock laughed derisively. “No, that’s not it. I don’t look to much, I see too much. I see what other people do not see. And it’s not a super power, it’s a curse.” Sherlock had never just spoken so honestly with anyone like this before and it all had just squirted right out. Like pus out of a boil. 

Sherlock panicked right then, thinking that he had told Victor too much sensitive information. “It’s ok, Victor, I deal with it in my own way. I’m OK. I’d like to stop talking about this now.”

“Well I think you are better than ok.” Victor offered. Sherlock looked at Victor blankly.

“Thanks.” 

Victor gave Sherlock a side long glance. “Maybe you can entertain me.”

Sherlock quickly regained his usual cool composure and answered Victor with very measured, clipped tones. “Please set your sights low. I don’t perform on command.”

“Hey nothing meant, Sherlock. I was just joking, really.”

“Honestly, I should be used to it by now. It's genetic anyway. My brother is the same way as I am."

“You have a brother?”

“Yes, more or less. And he left secondary school and went to uni, just like me. Since he did it, I was very keen to try. But I really wanted to beat him and go earlier but that didn’t work out. I went at the exact same age that he did.”

“An older brother. What’s he like, is he just like you?”

“No, he’s a prick.” And they both roared with laughter. 

They went back up to the set with faces red from laughing. Victor went to his room. Natalie was sitting on the sofa, with her knees drawn up to prop up a textbook. 

“You two were gone quite a long time. I guess you had fun. Do you ever have fun, Sherlock?.” she snorted a laugh into her sociology book. 

“It was just a walk, Natalie. What of it.” He but did not wait for an answer because he did not care what she thought and went straight to his room.

The summer term weeks flew by. Sherlock and Victor did spend lots of time together, went to meals together, studied together. Got high together. Sherlock laughed longer and harder with Victor than with anyone else he had ever met. 

They studied in the library. Well, Victor studied and Sherlock read anything else than what was assigned by the professor. Sherlock also spent time in the rare book archive and in the psychology stacks. They studied in the common room, on the dormitory floor. They went to meals, either with each other or with Mike and Molly. Sherlock tried to avoid Natalie. 

A few weeks went by.  
One day while studying in the library, Victor asked Sherlock. "Sherlock, are you famous?"

Sherlock did not look up from his book when he answered him, "I assure you Victor, I am not. If you think you are hanging around a famous person, you are sure to be disappointed."  
Sherlock laughed, "Right now, I am a uni student who spends most of his time in the library and likes to get high. And that sounds pretty typical to me." he looked up at Victor and smiled.


	7. Money

Sherlock does not go willingly to Mycroft’s office, ever. But, Mycroft does require him to show himself approximately every 4 weeks, just to make sure he is alive or maybe just to torture him, Sherlock reckons.

Imagine Mycroft’s surprise when Sherlock shows up there, unbidden, 3 weeks after their last meeting. 

“Hello Sherlock, and to what do I owe this treat of your presence?” 

“Can’t I come to visit my brother?”

“Yes of course, but as you never come here willingly, I imagine that you have an agenda.”

Sherlock was quiet, caught. 

Mycroft took advantage of his brother’s silence. “I understand that you have made a friend.”

“What are you on about? He’s not a friend. He just lives on my floor. Are you spying on me, Mycroft? You know, you really shouldn’t be trying to live in my pocket. Get a life.”

“I’m am not spying, Sherlock. Not this time, anyway. My initial plan was to give you some lead at the start, and then start spying, but I haven’t got to it yet.”

Sherlock snorted. 

“Oh, thank you for the consideration.”

“I think you of all people know what I am capable of. Anyway, I work with Victor’s father. He is a liaison from America at the US Embassy,” sighing, “..and I know his son transferred to your school and that he is there for the summer term. That is no great leap.”

“Mycroft, I am very put upon by you.” Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest, petulant. 

“As am I, by you.” He added more information, slower and quieter, “And they travel a great deal, so don’t get attached.”

“I have an idea, let’s change the subject. I need more money.”

‘I just gave you money.” 

“Yes, a bit ago. But, I am currently out of money.” His brother was in control of his money, for the time being, until he was of age. 

“Thank you for the money, although it is rightfully mine.” He was trying to maintain his composure. 

“I have yet to give it to you.”

“Yes, but you will. You have no choice. Back to the money, I need it because something might come up.”

“Such as?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Mycroft!”

There were times that Mycroft did not know when to stop until he had his brother really rattled, but this time, he did relent. 

“The money will be there in the morning.”

Sherlock settled down, but his heart was still racing in his chest. He did not feel that a large row right now would help matters. “Thank you.” he said quietly.

Sherlock got up from the chair to leave. 

“Just one more thing, Sherlock.”

He turned back to his brother with his shoulders slightly slumped, “Isn’t there always?

“Whatever it is you are doing, please be careful.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who at this time was very serious. “I will.” He said.


	8. The Party

Sherlock and Victor were having lunch in the dining hall. Or rather, Victor was having lunch and Sherlock was having a cup of tea. Molly joined them, she was excited and out of breath. 

“Let’s plan an end of summer term party!” Molly was very excited and so was Victor, but Sherlock could only forsee dread.

“Oh great, a party. With people and…. talking.” Victor and Molly went straight on with their planning and gave him no heed.

“Ok, how about Thursday night. Final exams will be over. We can go out for food and then back here for drinking.” They would make sure to pass the information along to Mike and everyone on their floor.

Victor thought the idea was splendid, “That sounds great. Guess what, since I have been here, I have never had fish and chips.”

“It’s a plan then, to take Victor to get the very best fish and chips in London.”

Mike, Natalie, Molly, Sherlock and Victor went out for food in the late afternoon, not coming back to the campus until late in the evening. They spent a good amount of time running around London laughing and talking. They rode the tube. They walked on the streets, looking in windows of fancy shops. Sherlock may not have been in his element in a raucous social group, but he loved London. He knew the streets like the back of his hand. He did not often join in the conversation and easy banter, he was just listening. And watching. The night was clear and there was a soft warm breeze. He felt a small glimmer of something like happiness. On the walk back, as they got closer to campus, they broke up into smaller groups to have easier conversations. Mike, Molly and Natalie in one group, Victor and Sherlock in another. Molly was watching the 2 boys as they walked ahead of the other three, their heads down in low thoughtful conversation, like they were talking about something serious.

There was a moment as they all walked along as a jovial group when Molly had a cold pang of regret about Sherlock. She stopped short at her realization, losing her place in the conversation she was having with Mike and Natalie, but she quickly caught herself. She knew Sherlock was not interested in her. Sherlock tolerated her, but when he looked at her, he did not really see her. He spoke to her, they worked together, but that was all. And that was all it was ever going to be. She would not exist to him as anything other than a classmate. She saw the way he looked at Victor. It was much different than the way he looked at her. Even though she knew he was doing his best to hide it.

Then up to the set, for beer and cider. More people came up, Sebastian came up and brought other people Sherlock had not seen on campus, apparently having heard about the party. At the most, there was about 30 people. It was a good party, with everyone chatting and having a good time in the common room. There was even dancing after someone put music on Victor’s boom box. Natalie and Molly were singing at the top of their lungs.

The RA that none of the kids had seen all term must have been out (again) because they did not get called on about the noise. With all the music blaring and very loud talking, it was hard to hear. 

Sherlock never could relax, as a rule, he did not know how, but after a few drinks, he was finally feeling a bit at ease. He was certain it was the alcohol, and he was glad for it. He was trying to maintain his composure and keep his wits about him. As the night grew later, he could tell that he was being watched intermittently, by Seb and Natalie mostly. He did not want to give them any fodder for whatever it was they were looking for. He could not fathom any reason for their behavior, although he was well aware of how much Natalie disliked him.  
His thoughts briefly went back to a Christmas Eve a few years ago, when during a party at the family house in the countryside, he drank too much wine. The only other person at the party even close to his age was his brother and he was no fun. Sherlock was bored. After dinner, Sherlock kept going into the butler’s pantry to nick wine. He poured it into an opaque plastic cup and no one at the party was the wiser. That was, until Mycroft found him vomiting in the loo. Mycroft put him to bed and told Mummy he went to bed with a ‘migraine’. Sherlock wanted to carefully monitor his intake tonight to avoid another ‘migraine’. It also occurred to him that he had never thanked his brother for the rescue.

Sherlock stood at the edge of the party with his back to the corridor. Briefly he thought the loud music was causing ringing in his ears, because from behind, he thought he heard a voice in his ear, ‘Maybe you will dance with me later.’ It was just a whisper, a vibration really and the breath a hot tickle on the back of his neck. He turned his head quickly to see who it was. Surprised, he was not certain he heard correctly, if at all. It was just a whisper. A low, silky voice. Sherlock’s head was spinning from the music and alcohol and his reaction time was slowed. Damn. As he glanced around, he saw Victor leaning against the opposite wall, looking at him. Clear eyes and open expression. A questioning look. Suppose it was an auditory hallucination, did it really happen? Just like Victor to take advantage of his intoxicated state to say something cheeky in his ear. If he asked Victor, he could just act innocent. Plausible deniability. Victor was smiling now. Sherlock smiled back and laughed. Then he looked down when he realized he was blushing. Damn.

As the party wound down, people trickled out, going back to their sets. Eventually everyone left and it was just Sherlock and Victor. They were sitting on the floor side by side now, with their backs against the common room sofa, passing a bong between them. 

Victor was laughing, ‘I have seen you smile all evening. Now I have officially seen everything.”

Sherlock put his hand up to decline when Victor offered him the bong again for another hit. He had had enough. “I smile when there is something to smile about.”

Victor tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, “Hey, come into my room, I want to show you something.” They both got up from the floor and walked to Victor’s room.

“Hah, don’t tell me it’s your etchings?” Sherlock joked and could not help laughing at such a ludicrous thought. This made Victor giggle. Sherlock had an older brother, after all.  
He followed Victor into the room, he could not imagine what it was he had to say or show him. As the boys crossed the threshold, Victor turned and walked up to him, reaching over his shoulder to close and lock the door behind him. Sherlock now had his back to the door. Victor was standing right in front of him, very close. Sherlock could feel his heart pounding and he did not want to seem nervous in front of the older student, so he started to ramble and state the obvious. 

“Where did you get the pot?” Sherlock asked. There was only a small light on in the room, but he could make out Victor's eyes. 

“Sebastian.”

“Oh right, Well, it’s…..good.” He laughed, of course he got it from Seb. Maybe stop talking now, Sherlock told himself.

Victor stood right in front of him. They were almost face to face, Sherlock was about 2 inches taller than Victor, despite being the younger of the two. In his nervousness, Sherlock started to ramble, again.

“Of course, as you probably know, the psychoactive substance in marijuana is tetrahydrocannabinol, which is the main isomer. Sticky and viscous when warmed, amber-colored, glassy and solid when cold. Schedule 1 from the UN on psychoactive substances, in 1971.”

“Thank you for the information, professor science.” The tone of Victor’s voice had changed a bit lower and slower, like he was taking time with his words. Sherlock took a step backwards, uncertain. He found that is back was up against the door properly now and there was nowhere else to go.

Victor took another, smaller step forward. They were running out of room. As an automatic reflex, Sherlock mentally went through what he would do if Victor attacked him. Mentally going through his years of martial arts training and what take down maneuvers he would need in case this scenario went awry. 

But Victor was smiling and may have been a bit nervous himself.

“You're tall for 16.” He said.

Sherlock stammered, “I-I think I’m still growing.” Shit.

Sherlock cleared his throat, he needed clarification, “Victor, what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Sherlock was wide-eyed and he felt his cheeks turning very red.

Just in case this went wrong, one more time, Sherlock went over some moves of self-defense. Always vigilant, he rarely let his guard down.

“Well I don’t know much about isomers, mate.” This made Sherlock giggle involuntarily. ‘Mate.’ The term sounding funny but ? endearing in Victor’s American accent. 

Victor must have sensed Sherlock’s wariness and panic and took a step backwards, giving Sherlock room. His tone had changed and was very non-chalant now. “You know, we get along, we should be roommates in the fall.” He said pleasantly. “Do you have a roommate planned for Fall?”

Sherlock frowned and looked at him suspiciously. “No. I was looking to be by myself, really, as Mike wanted to room with his medicine mates for the next year.” Not certain where this was going, and feeling a bit uncertain, Sherlock reached behind him and to the right, lower on the door, to feel the cold hard metal edge of the doorknob.

Sherlock was stunned. “You think we should be roommates for Fall?” He repeated.

“Ha, I have been in your room; I know what you are up to.” Victor said laughing. “I have spent enough time with you to know you are a menace, but I don’t mind.”

“Ok, I guess.” Surprised. Sherlock had collected himself by then. He felt that his cheeks were no longer on fire. His head clearing and he was formulating an escape plan.

“Where are you going?” Victor saw that Sherlock had his hand on the doorknob and was turning it. 

Sherlock looked down, unable to meet Victor’s eyes. “I’m sorry Victor, I need to get…..going, I feel a bit dizzy and I think that there is something I should be doing with…… spores. And. I’m sorry. Really.”

“I was hoping you’d stay.” Victor's eyes searched his face questioning and a bit disappointed.

“Uh, no. I can't. Maybe another time.”

“OK, Just as well then.” shrugging, Victor was resigned.

“Good night.” Sherlock’s hand found the doorknob and turning it opened the door and spun himself out into the hallway, practically tripping over his feet. the bright lights of the corridor had him briefly blind and blinking. Not quite certain what was going on just then, honestly, but happy really to get out into the cool hallway to process this event. 

When he got to his room he fell into his own bed, exhausted and confused. 

As the bed was spinning, Sherlock was able to have a few (but just a few) coherent thoughts before he passed out. Sherlock always knew he was gay. He knew he was not interested in girls, like many boys his age. He just did not think about girls at all. Girls were not his area. While in school, he never really had a chance to think about sex or even kissing anyone, for that matter. It had never come up before. Before Victor.

What did Victor want? Did Victor want to kiss him? 

He liked Victor. He thought Victor liked him. 

Despite what Sherlock had wanted, he was just 16 and Sherlock was not smooth.


	9. The Morning After

Bang Bang Bang!  
Bang Bang Bang!  
Bang Bang Bang!

Sherlock was face down on the bed, still in all of his clothes, his face buried in the pillow. He heard the banging on his door as very far away, until it started to reverberate in his head. 

“Go away!” He scratched out, mostly into the pillow. It wanted to be a yell, but it wasn’t.

“Sherlock it’s Victor, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

No answer.

“Until fall.”

“Shit.” Sherlock sat up with a wave of nausea almost taking him back down again.

“Wait,” he managed to say thickly. He stood up, but just barely. 

Wading slowly to the door he braced himself against the frame and opened it.

Victor was standing there looking like sunshine and it hurt Sherlock's head to look at him. His eyes were bright, “Ha, you look like shit.” He said laughing.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said eyes closed.

“Listen, Um, Sherlock,” Victor said softly, looking at his feet. “I have to go meet my Dad and I’m already pretty late. I’m going back to the US for a few weeks. I’ll see you when school starts again. Think about what I said, OK? --about the roommate thing.”

Sherlock looked at him blankly. There were so many other things he wanted to say, to ask Victor. Now there was no time. What a perfectly wasted opportunity. He didn't realize he wasn't answering.

“Sherlock are you listening?” Victor asked, while Sherlock had his eyes closed again and now was pressing his face against the cool surface of the plaster wall. 

“Yes.”

Victor touched his arm, “Hey, I have to go, OK?” Victor was already moving down the hall. 

Sherlock closed his eyes again, still dizzy as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“You heard me, right? I’ll call you or maybe write a letter. OK?” Victor was entirely too cheerful.

Victor stopped mid-corridor, “Answer me Sherlock, so I know you are comprehending me.”

“OK.”

Victor laughed, “You are such a lightweight, we didn’t even drink that much. Hey are you sure I'm OK to leave you like this? You really look like hell."

“Sod off, Victor.” Sherlock managed.

"OK that's reassuring. I feel much better now. Happy summer!" Victor was gone. 

Sherlock shut the door to his room quietly. He was sure that his present condition was attributable to the fact that he was only 16 and still growing. Certain that the immaturity of his liver enzymes to metabolize the alcohol properly was to blame. He was glad he didn’t say that to Victor, it didn’t sound like much of a retort, anyway. As much as he wanted to mourn Victor's departure for the summer right now, there were more pressing matters. He had a full bladder and he was well aware that he needed to shower before he could be in the presence of his brother.

He leaned over and vomited into the wastebasket.

And brush his teeth.


	10. Happy Birthday

The rest of the summer went by fast, with fall term starting before anyone expected. There were about 3 weeks off in August when Sherlock went home. 

He stayed with his Grand-mere in France for 2 weeks. Mamie was always very indulgent with him and his brother both, as she had no other grandchildren. Sherlock was very fond of her, because she had very few rules. When he spent time with her in Paris his only requirement was to come back each night to sleep in his own bed. He made sure he did. He liked Paris well enough and could easily get cigarettes without any issue, but he did not have any connections for drugs. 

This was a disappointment.

While there, he did get a letter from Victor, addressed to the country house and forwarded to him by Mummy. Victor did not know he was in France. From reading the letter, Victor still seemed very keen to share a room next term, but Sherlock was doubtful. He was still feeling wary of Victor. Sherlock had a raw, scraped feeling in the pit of his stomach and he was not sure if it was fear or excitement. Very likely it was both. 

Sherlock then went back to the UK for the rest of the break. Mycroft was in London with Mummy to attend a few charity events. Sherlock was alone in the house except for the caretaker and cook. Trapped in the English countryside, he could play his violin and read, but he had enough of gardens, song birds, fresh air and boredom. He couldn’t wait to get back to London.  
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Sherlock and Victor moved into the residence hall on the same day. Their room was on the ground floor. Half of the dorm building was boys and half was girls, separated by a middle common area on each floor. They were happy to see each other after the break. But the boys were moving around each other a bit cautiously after the way the summer term ended.

The roommate situation was fine, actually it was better than fine. Victor turned out to be a considerate roommate, and Sherlock tried to be on his best and to not leave a mess, much. For a while, they were both on their best behavior. They were often together, talking and laughing. 

While Sherlock could be very quiet at times, and every once in awhile unreachable, Victor seemed to be able to draw Sherlock out of his reverie. Victor had a quick mind, he enjoyed spending time with Sherlock and appreciated the things he had to say. They ate together and studied together, but as they had differing schedules, they were not in the same classes. 

Victor had to spend much of his time in the music school practice rooms, especially right before a performance. Victor knew Sherlock also played the violin, but Sherlock never played in front of Victor. When asked, Sherlock would always put Victor off.

"Sherlock why won’t you play for me? I would very much like to hear you. Molly says you play beautifully.”

“Maybe, sometime.” Was always Sherlock’s answer. He could not be budged. 

Sherlock put Victor off for months. In more ways than one. 

Sherlock tried to explain himself, “Well the violin is not a career I’m pursuing, unlike yourself."/p>

"But you are a music student." Victor would counter.

“I’m not, really. There really isn’t a school for exactly what I want to do.” Sherlock would shrug his shoulders and refuse to elaborate further.  
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

The first semester was over in a flash, everyone went home for break. Victor went to the US to see extended family. Mycroft picked up Sherlock and they went to the house in the countryside for Christmas.

The next semester started mid-January. Sherlock turned 17 while on Christmas break. Victor had something special planned now that they were back at school.

Honestly it was an ambush. Well, it was in Sherlock’s opinion. They were all lying in wait when he got back to the room. Molly bought a chocolate cake from a local bakery covered with chocolate shavings. Sherlock was indeed surprised. The boys did not have proper cutlery in the room. Even Molly did not think of it. They cut the cake with a letter opener that they washed off in the sink in the loo. With soap. No forks and no napkins, everyone ate with their hands and all 4 of them were covered in chocolate. Sherlock again had that funny little glimmer of what he thought might be happiness. They all went back to their rooms and Sherlock and Victor were left alone.

Sherlock sat down on his bed with his back propped up against the wall. He had entirely too much cake. In his lap was his favorite History and Practice of Embalming book. Initially Victor was sitting at the desk, but he got up, crossed the room and sat next to Sherlock on the bed. Their shoulders were touching. 

Sherlock looked up from his reading. This move did not surprise him, Victor often stood close to him or sat right next to him. The proximity did not bother him.

“Sherlock, I, um… wanted to ask you something.”

“Ok.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Sherlock blinked. “Sure.”

Victor leaned forward. He pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. It was a very brief kiss, just a brushing of their lips together. Gentle. As they parted, they both looked at each other still a bit wary, waiting.

Victor was the first to speak, “You taste like chocolate.”

“So do you.”

They laughed.

“I have to confess, Sherlock that I…I... um, have wanted to do this for a very long time, but I was too nervous.” Pause. Sherlock was sure Victor was asking for some kind of verbal reassurance, despite the physical one he was getting. 

“Yeah, me too.” Sherlock still felt really shaky. 

“Yeah, I know you were. I really like you. I think you're really great, terrific even, but I thought maybe I scared you that time, you know, in the summer.”

Sherlock did not want to admit to being as scared as he had felt in Victor's room after the party. “Well, I was not in the best condition to make any decisions, really.” he admitted.

"I didn’t want to rush you or anything. And I still don’t, so if it’s not OK, just tell me and I'll"- and Sherlock stopped him with another kiss. This kiss was a bit harder, more insistent. Sherlock reached up to touch Victor's cheek as they kissed and he slid his hand behind his neck to pull him in further. He wanted to let Victor know, to show him it was not just OK. It was better than OK.


	11. A Fragile Thing

Sherlock often felt that his new relationship with Victor was a fragile thing. He felt fragile and he didn’t like feeling that way. He acknowledged that Victor took a calculated risk to kiss him. He appreciated it, because he would have never made the first move. 

Sherlock never had a relationship before with anyone outside of family. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it, but he felt that he was bound to ruin it. It was inevitable. It was just a matter of time before he would do something that Victor was certain to find intolerable. Everyone felt the same way about him. Why would Victor be any different?

They slept in the same bed now every night. Sometimes it was his bed, sometimes it was Victors. Despite his fears, Sherlock plunged headlong in to their physical relationship. Often it was Sherlock who initiated things between them now with no hesitation. When Victor came into the room, Sherlock quickly jumped up to lock the door and stand right in front of him. Not waiting for him to take his coat off, he kissed him against the door. Victor still had his bookbag slung over his shoulder. Sherlock grabbed onto the waistband of Victor’s jeans and pulled him even closer. Moving a few fingers, he lifted the edge of his shirt up and moved his hand softly but firmly against Victor’s warm flat stomach. Victor inhaled sharply. The bookbag dropped to the floor.

In public though, things were different. Sherlock felt very protective of what they had, and didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to the fact that they were a couple. He could always be counted on to notice the things that no one wanted revealed about themselves. But what abut other people? Were other people noticing? Was he different now? Was Victor? He couldn't help but wonder. He didn't want to attract any gossip or ridicule. There was always plenty of gossip to go around on any college campus.  
Sherlock felt that what he had with Victor was worth protecting. 

Sherlock was not shy demonstrating his affection for Victor when they were alone. He loved kissing Victor. He loved touching Victor and exploring him with his hands, mouth and tongue. No one was more imaginative than Sherlock. The boys were up many late nights getting to know each other's bodies and preferences. On quiet, late nights in the residence hall, they tried not to be loud. They took trips to the loo to clean up separately. When they did emerge from the room, they tried not to look too thoroughly debauched, in case they ran into anyone in the corridor. They tried not to giggle too loudly.

They could not be together every minute, though. Victor spent considerable time at the music school. His days were very long with classes and practices as well as performances. Because he kept such late nights, Victor was also perpetually exhausted, and unlike Sherlock fell asleep fast, even in the afternoon. Especially after activities that required him to expend any extra energy.  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Victor tried many times in vain to get Sherlock to play for him. Finally, Sherlock relented. He picked up the violin on day when they were alone and just played for Victor. There was no sense in changing or altering the way he played. He tried not to be nervous, but he also knew that there was a risk here.

He did not try to alter who he was. The violin was a part of him and had been since he was 4 years old, it was not able to be more or less than what it was.  
He played for Victor and he put his whole heart in it. He tried to infuse how he felt for Victor and his happiness into the music.

But then he saw Victor’s face. 

Victor’s mouth was open a tiny fraction. He hesitated before he spoke, like he was collecting himself, but Sherlock had already seen a small dark shadow of disappointment behind his eyes.  
That was not what Sherlock was going for. But he also knew that before he started that he was taking a calculated risk.

Victor’s throat was dry, so he hesitated a bit before speaking, “Wow that was great, really.”

Victor realized that he would never be the violinist Sherlock was. But he was not going to let on any more than he already had. “You know, the more I know about you, the more remarkable you become.” Victor was smiling, but his smile did not go all the way up to his eyes. “You are brilliant, talented, beautiful. You are a wonder.”

Sherlock hoped that his ability did not bother Victor. They were not in apparent competition, there were no public venues where he could outshine him. And he would not construct any. He was trying to tread lightly here, but he could not shake the feeling that when he played for Victor, he had put too much on display.  
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	12. Pyrophile

A fire drill woke the students in the middle of the night. Even Sherlock had been asleep. All the students were now outside in various states of dress swearing and complaining. Most in pajamas and dressing gowns, gladly it was not too cold. 

As a fun game, Sherlock tried to see who came out of the dorm together, to see who was sleeping with whom. Rousted by a fire alarm, couples sleeping together would not have time to get back to their own rooms. They would panic, defenses down and they would run out together. Once outside and safe, they then might start to inch away from each other, eyes downcast, slinking to another part of the crowd. Especially if they had something to hide. When it was determined that the building was safe, they then would go back to their own rooms for the rest of the night. Sherlock noticed two such couples. He did not recognize them or know any of their names. One couple was a boy and girl. One couple was two boys. 

Sherlock’s game was interrupted by the awareness that Victor was standing next to him. Victor did not have the presence of mind to grab a dressing gown during his exit from the residence hall.

Sherlock had a t shirt, track suit bottoms and a dressing gown on, as well as having grabbed a blanket on his way outside. Victor really should have more clothes on. Just shorts, no shirt. Sherlock gazed at his hard-muscled arms and back and chest. He must be cold with no clothes on like that. Sherlock swallowed hard and realized that he did not want to be caught staring at Victor, so he handed him the blanket. The firetrucks and police drove away. Sleepy and bleary, the boys made their way back to their room on the ground floor. Other students were not so lucky, having to wait for the slow ancient elevator or take numerous flights of stairs at 2 am. Who could sleep now?  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
A few weeks later, again a fire drill, 2 am. The students were running out of the building but they were grumbling under their breaths. A fire alarm, again? is this a joke? is this a faulty alarm system? 

Sherlock realized it was none of those. It was a pattern.

There were more police than last time, this time the students were barricaded off from the building by police tape. Sherlock sidled up to the front of the barricade to see if it was possible to chat up one of the police in the front, and to get a better view.

“Hey!” he smiled, “I guess we have a faulty alarm system. You must really hate this! Such a waste of your time! Your coming out here, in the middle of the night, rousting all these men and….. trucks to drag us uni students out of bed.”

The policeman, hands in his pockets of his Mack, gave a sidelong glance at Sherlock. Then, looking down at his feet, Sherlock could tell he was taking a moment to formulate an explanation to an observation that he was surprised to get. 

He walked over to Sherlock, his name tag read: Sergeant Lestrade. 

Lestrade gave a short, grim laugh. Sherlock sorted from his expression that was neither a faulty system nor a drill, but a real fire. And it was—oh—intentional? from a more serious, world-weary beat in the detective’s eyes. 

Sherlock had all the information he needed and should have just walked away, but his intense curiosity and loose lips got the best of him and he could not suppress the urge to ask the Sergeant, “Who would want to start a fire in a residence hall?”

No one mentioned that the fire was intentionally started. “What’s your name, kid? Don’t get involved, unless you want to be considered a suspect.” Lestrade warned. 

Suspect—his conversation was overheard and the word suspect was repeated in whispers by a few students who were standing near the barricade.

As the students filed into the building, Sherlock took the chance to go over to the girl’s side to get a look at where the fire was set. Molly’s floor. Once over there, it looked like a bulletin board had been set on fire. Paper, easy. Inelegant. OK fire raiser, have you no imagination? And there was minimal destruction. Smelling it, he noted no accelerant. So up in the middle of the night, sets fire to the bulletin board, smoke detectors go off, alarms, fire trucks, everyone out of bed. Motives are robbery? distraction? vandalism? entertainment?

Molly appeared at his elbow. “So, reading the bulletin board then hoping to join the mahjong society?” She laughed at the imagined scene. 

“What are you doing here, Sherlock? You’d best get back over to the boy’s side, or someone may think you have something to do with this. You know, like the killer returning to the scene of the crime?”

They heard a loud group of girls coming down the hallway. Molly took Sherlock by the arm and pulled him into her room.

“What are you doing, Molly?” Sherlock was so lost in thought about the fire, he did not hear the returning students.

“Saving your skin, shut up.” She said. 

The voices in the hallway quieted down.

“Where is your roommate?” he whispered.

“Hospital.”

“Why?”

“She’s sick, she has chicken pox, you can take her bed for the night.”

Sherlock laughed out loud, “What kind of a medical student are you? Varicella is transmitted by exposure to infected droplets. You must be out of your mind. I won’t sleep in her bed.”

Molly rolled her eyes.

“OK then, you can have the floor until everyone goes to bed.”

“It’s OK Molly, I rarely sleep, I’ll just sit here. I’ll give it about an hour and then go back to my room." Sherlock sat on the floor, back against the wooden door. "Thank you.” he remembered to say.

Sherlock looked down at the floor, as though he was carefully contemplating what to say. “Molly, do you know of anyone here who is unhappy, antisocial and impulsive?”

Molly laughed, "Is this a joke, Sherlock? Are you describing yourself?"

"No, just looking for a pyromaniac." Sherlock was not offended.

"So you really think the fire was set intentionally? The last one, too?" Molly climbed into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Well bulletin boards don’t usually set themselves ablaze. And the police think so, too. "

"How do you know that?" 

"I just do."

There was no sleeping now. Sherlock sat awake and thinking until dawn, then got up and quietly opened Molly's door. 

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"The library."


	13. Fuer lust

The next day at lunch, everyone was not as abuzz about the fire raiser they suspected was on campus, they were more abuzz about the fact that Molly had a boy in her room all night. 

Sherlock did not go to his morning classes in favour of spending hours in the library psychology stacks. He was thrilled when he got to the lunch table. “I spent the whole of this morning in the library reading about pyromaniacs. There is likely a pyromaniac on our campus.”

“Someone saw you coming out of Molly’s room last night.” Mike offered.

“That’s great.” Sherlock's eyes were glazed at the thought of a real pyromaniac. 

“What?” Mike was confused. 

“Didn’t you hear what I said? A pyromaniac. On our campus. That’s great. Do keep up, Mike. A fire setter, a pyromaniac. What do we know about fire setters? Pyro- Latin. Pyr- Greek. It’s a mental illness that makes people have a strong desire to set fires. More of an ‘impulse control disorder’ really. A compulsion, it can relieve tension, give instant gratification or induce euphoria. Some experts see it as libidinal. That’s sexual, Mike.”

“I know that, Sherlock.”

“From the literature I read, a pyromaniac may fixate on fire house or firemen. I don’t think this rises to the level of arson, because an arsonist would set fires for personal, monetary or political gain, so they are more likely to use an accelerant. And we know that an accelerant was not used.”

‘We do?” Molly wondered.

“Yes, we do, from the research we did at the scene of the crime." Sherlock put both hands up in mild exasperation. "There was no residue or smell of an apparent accelerant. So, attention, vandalism, revenge, entertainment or destruction are the likely motives.” 

"So, this fire setter is not trying to kill us uni students." Mike worried. 

"Oh, I didn't say that. I think that is still quite possible. But it doesn’t matter though, as I’m apparently sleeping with Molly.” Sherlock took a sip of his tea and snickered behind the cup.

“Hey, why is that funny?!!” Molly protested.

“Sorry Molly, of course it’s not funny." Sherlock persisted. "Most studied cases of pyromania were in children and teenagers. OK, plenty of those here at university. Fire setters can have different motives or personal issues in their life, they are more likely to have committed crimes in the past like vandalism and theft. Know any vandals?" They shook their heads. "OK, attention seeking, bullying, lack of friends or siblings, revenge . Know anyone with a vendetta?" They shook their heads. Individuals with pyromania are also prominent in having antisocial traits, like truancy or running away." The likelihood of probability is in a dorm full of teens asleep at night, so the fire setter is likely to be a teen, one of the university students. Fires were set on the girls side so odds are on a girl, but Sherlock himself was over there all night, so you can’t rule out the blokes now, can you. For the next few months there were no further drills or fires. Life went on as usual. Classes tests, parties, trips to the pub. As time went on, everyone forgot about the fires. Everyone except Sherlock. Molly ran into Sherlock in the corridor of the chemistry building. “I didn't forget you know, I have been asking around. You know this is a unhappy, antisocial, impulsive time of life, so, it could be anyone, really.” Molly did not think they would be the ones to sort this out. “Well, it might be someone who stands out a bit more? Or is trying to hide, really." Sherlock still did not have any great leads. "Well, that makes it easier, thanks.” They stood in the hallway, Sherlock towering over petite Molly in her pink jumper. Sherlock was quiet for a minute, then looking down at his feet, hesitated, “Mo-Molly, thanks for your help. I don’t know many girls really, um, not my area, so, thanks.” “It’s OK, Sherlock, I get it.” Molly sighed. Sherlock laid awake most nights after Victor was fast asleep. His arm fell numb, under Victor's head. his mind raced on and on, Victor's heavy head cutting off the circulation to his hand and fingers. He was just torturing himself with questions he could not answer. What was the appeal of setting fires? Was it more doing something that was just clandestine in and of itself? or maybe it was the escapism? Or entertainment value.


	14. Madden me with pleasure

Often there were nights he could not sleep. As was his pattern before Victor, he could stay up late playing, but the comfort of his violin not available to him now. Miserable and bored, he slowly extricated his arm from under Victor's head, quietly dressed and left. Wandering around the campus, he was thankful that the nights were not as cold now. Sherlock knew the back door of the hall was open. He wondered who else knew about the door. Back entrance of the dorm, open door he slipped in, to the girl's side. 

The dorm was quiet. The back door lead to a back stairwell. As Sherlock closed the door behind him, the crickets that were outside were silenced. Up the back stairs, his thoughts turned to how to catch a fire raiser....maybe a stakeout-but that could take months- a camera, always seems to be the same side of the building, but that factor could change. Nothing going on here tonight. He left the way he came. 

Sherlock walked around the building and saw a figure sitting on the steps in front of the dorm. It was Natalie. He stopped dead in his tracks. She saw him. He was caught.  
He continued to walk until he was close enough to speak to her. He stood right in front of her on the cement walkway.

"Hello, Sherlock." she said. She was sitting in her dressing gown and pajamas, smoking a cigarette. She was barefoot in this cold weather. 

"Hello, Natalie."

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"Cant sleep, just taking a walk." he explained. 

"Pretty late to be out." She observed.

"I could say the same for you." he countered. 

She offered him a cigarette, which he took. She handed him her lighter. As he took it, he got a good look at her arms. He noted that the varicella scabs healed well.

He was always wary of Natalie, he did not like the way she looked at him. She was also miserable. She tried to provoke him sometimes. As Molly's roommate, he ran into her regularly.

“Are you feeling better after your illness?” he asked politely.

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

“I guess that could have been quite a problem if you spread the chicken pox all over campus.”

“Yes I guess so, but the nurse told me that most uni students have had it by now.”

“Oh. Did you miss much classwork?"

"Yes, I did but the professors gave me extra time to finish."

"Well, that's a comfort." he said. "Id best be off, then. Goodnight, Natalie.”

“Goodnight Sherlock.”

 

That was the most civil conversation he had ever had with Natalie, too bad she was going to jail. Sherlock went back to the dorms with a plan.


	15. Prometheus

Sherlock wanted to say that things were going well with Victor, despite the close quarters and intensity of their relationship. There were times when he really had to suppress the temptation to touch Victor, he always wanted to have his hands on him. Sherlock knew he could be overbearing and possessive at times. So periodically, he tried to give him some space. Sherlock was perplexed at the times when Victor would spend time with other people like Seb or students form the music school. Victor was very personable and friendly as a rule, unlike Sherlock. At times, Victor seemed to openly flirt in front of him- men, women and he wondered what this could mean. Was he looking too hard or just seeing too much? Maybe Victor was not happy with him? not satisfied, or looking for something else? Sherlock tortured himself with doubt.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Victor would occasionally hang out with people who Sherlock didn’t like. Kids from the town who he met at a party, people who maybe had drugs when Seb was out. They may or not be students at uni. Sherlock didn’t say anything, he didn't feel like he had the right to keep him from spending time with other people. Coming back to the room from the chemistry lab, he found Victor sitting on the edge of the bed, quiet.

“What’s going on Victor?"

“You know, …Chelsea was just here and now my radio is gone.” Chelsea? Sherlock remembers that Chelsea was the girl from the summer semester when Victor met Sherlock.

“And you think she took it? Right before your eyes?” That boombox was pretty big, it was unbelievable that someone could have walked out right in front of his nose with this machine.

“Victor, this seems quite implausible.”

Sheepishly Victor was adamant. “Yes I’m pretty sure.”

"Well, what were you doing that distracted you?"

Oh. 

Sherlock had that old familiar cold, scraped feeling in the it of his stomach and he was sure this time it was dread. 

And she walked right out with the radio. 

She.

Sherlock had quite a clear picture of what happened. 

They never did say they were an exclusive item, so he often considered that maybe, quite possibly, there were others. But this was more than confirmation, and more of a punch in the gut. This would explain the times when Victor was not in the room and away for a bit. A bit longer than expected.

"Maybe she had it behind her back, as she backed out of the room." Victor laughed. Or maybe you were asleep, Victor, when she walked out with the radio. Asleep after….Sherlock paced back and forth. 

Sherlock was incredulous, "-she just 'backed out of the room'? were you stoned? What's wrong with your eyes? Chelsea, as I remember, is not a very big person. You want me to believe this happened in front of you?" This was laughable. Sherlock stood in front of Victor, staring intensely into his eyes again. "Are you high?" he asked, in a very calm manner. 

"No." Victor said quietly, lowering his head.

Sherlock laughed bitterly, his voice thin and low, "You know, by rights Victor, I shouldn’t even help you.' 

Knowing full well without any evidence, it would be pretty impossible to just show up and accuse Chelsea of stealing the tape player but Sherlock just wanted this to be over. "OK, where does she live?" he sighed. 

"With her parents, a few streets over from the university." Victor had a new bit of hope in his voice. 

"Great." Sherlock sighed again. "OK, I have an idea. Do you want your radio back?"

Victor nodded.

"OK, you have to do exactly as I say."


	16. Combustion

Victor was angry and embarrassed. He wanted to do the talking and just confront her. But Sherlock had other ideas. While en route, Sherlock tried to explain to Victor that direct confrontation was unlikely to result in his getting the machine back and would just be met with denial of the theft and resistance. 

"Victor, you are going to have to let me do the talking."

Reluctantly, he agreed to cooperate. Sherlock was not definitely sure this was going to work, but they did not have any other plan. With parents at home, force and coercion would not be possible and the heavy hand was bound to fail. So the delicate hand it was. 

On the brisk walk there, Sherlock devised a plan. 

"You can never show up and accuse someone’s child of stealing.' he explained his rationale to Victor. "That is never on." They would have to have a ploy. 

They found the house. A white house with siding and a front porch. 

"OK remember let me do the talking, you stand to the side. Here." Sherlock indicated. "Don't move from this spot."

Sherlock knocked on the door. There were some sounds of shouting on the other side of the door, then a women opened the door, this must be her mother. Despite being infuriated, Sherlock put on his best non-threatening smile. "Hi! We are friends of Chelsea, I am Sherlock and this is Victor, is she here?" The mother indicated she was asleep. 

“Oh, too bad!!" Still smiling. "We were hoping to speak to her. We are friends from uni and she borrowed the boom box and we need it back to play a tape we are using for a school project? Maybe you have seen it? It's large, silver and obnoxious. heard to miss, really." Sherlock looked out of the side of his eye at Victor 

With the door only partially open, she looked from Sherlock to Victor sizing the boys up. “I don’t know.” was the response, her mouth set in a grim line. She sighed, then "I’ll see." then the door closed.

Victor was slumped against the railing and hung his head. Again shouting from inside the house, and what seemed like a very long pause, then some conversation. During what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock looked at his trainers and the dirty windows of the house. He could not believe he was in such a stupid situation. 

The door opened and there stood Chelsea, quite awake, with the errant boom box in her hand. She opened the door and came out to the porch.

And that’s when Sherlock decided to bow out. 

"Well, I'll leave you to it then." Sherlock walked away.

Chelsea handed the boom box to Victor and they walked off the porch and into a heated argument in the side yard. And so we have theft and we have betrayal. On more than one account. 

Sherlock turned and left them there. He started to walk home more than a bit dejectedly. It’s just as well. he thought, Better to know now, than to have this continue. This could just be a clean end. It's better this way.

Sherlock heard a sound behind him. It was Victor and the boom box. "Hey," he said, jogging to keep up with Sherlock's long strides and out of breath, "I’m sorry for all that."

"Sorry for having a girlfriend?"

"She is not my girlfriend."

"There is plenty of evidence to the contrary, Victor."

Sherlock gave him a look.

"Thanks for getting the radio back, you are brilliant, you know. I can’t believe her just walking out like that." Victor chuckled, he was still trying. Sherlock wondered why.

"I can’t believe you, Victor." he said softly.

Another sleepless night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	17. Playing with fire

Sherlock walked straight to the Metropolitan Police Station. He could not waste another minute waiting to speak to the police. He had already wasted enough time with Victor. The walk from the university to New Scotland Yard was about 2 miles. When he got to number 10 Broadway, he was told that Lestrade had gone home for the day and would not be back in until morning. Despite Sherlock’s insistence, they refused to tell him where he lived. Sherlock walked outside, and spotted a bench. He sat down and eventually fell asleep there.

Lestrade came into work the next morning to find Sherlock asleep on the bench in front of the building. Lestrade walked up to him, take out coffee in one hand and a bag with a danish in the other. He recognized Sherlock from the conversation they had at the police barricade during the last fire evacuation. He was the student with the pointed interest in the fires. It struck the constable just how young and vulnerable he looked curled up on the bench in the early morning hours.

He touched Sherlock’s shoulder. “Hey kid, tell me you haven’t been here all night.”

“I’d like to tell you that Sergent.” He said as he sat up, feeling sore from sleeping on the metal bench. “Do you have any cigarettes on you, constable?”

Lestrade laughed. “Those things will kill ya.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Sherlock had dark circles under his eyes and looked very disheveled.

As another non-answer, Lestrade handed him his coffee and danish. Sherlock took both of them, readily.

“Let’s start with ‘What are you doing here?’.”

“I’d like to talk to you.” Sherlock answered, chewing.

“Ok, come into the building. Let’s not talk out here.”

When they got to his office, the secretary offered her apologies with his (new) coffee. None of the staff knew what to do with Sherlock when he got there the night before. They all refused to call Lestrade in from home to see him, despite his insistence that he had evidence of the utmost importance to tell him. They did offer for him to speak to another officer, but Sherlock refused, he would only speak to Lestrade. Since it was not a murder, they told him that whatever he had to tell Lestrade could wait until the Sergent got in the next morning.

“Let’s start with your name.”

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Ok. I’m Greg Lestrade.”

“I know.” Sherlock took a casual sip of the coffee and grimaced. Not enough sugar.

Lestrade sighed.

“Ok. How old are you anyway?” Lestrade looked at the baby faced university student.

“That is a really a very long story that I have no interest in telling right now. I’m here for a totally different reason. Actually, one of extreme importance. That once I realized it, I felt compelled to hasten here at once." He sighed, “and sleep on a bench all night, apparently.”

“Why were you here all night?"

“Well, if your militant secretary would have called you like I asked, I would not have been here all night.” He spat. 

“Well you must admit your presence here is highly unusual. And to be honest, they are just doing their jobs.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I feel that I have a likely suspect.”

“Suspect in what- the fire setting?”

“Yes.”

“Who and why.”

“Why, I don’t know, but who I am reasonably sure.”

Lestrade was doubtful. There was no evidence at all. As a student from the university, maybe Sherlock could have some insight in the goings on there. But they had no hard evidence.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I'm right.”

“Those are strong allegations, you just can’t go off half cocked and accuse just anyone of fire setting. We are, at present, doing a very careful inquiry, Sherlock. You can’t just barge in here and insist we do things your way.”

Frustrated, Sherlock could see the conversation at present was going no where. “Well, I also know that you have one, no- 2 small children at home and your stay at home wife is desperately unhappy. She may just decide to leave you if you don’t get a promotion soon with a bigger paycheck.”

Lestrade choked, “Hey, how can you-“

Sherlock nodded toward the corridor, “And your secretary just lost her husband to a long protracted illness, cancer most likely, about a month ago. Um, and has 2 small dogs.”

Lestrade was stunned. He just had this conversation with his wife last night. She was unhappy and crying about their very small flat. Too small for the both of them and their 2 young children. But that was a conversation they had in the middle of the night, last night, in bed. And his secretary is a recent widow. Her late husband did have a long illness.

Lestrade put his head in his hands, leaned his elbows on the desk and thought ‘God help me.’ “Sherlock, I don’t know how you know these things.”

Sherlock was very quiet, his voice small and his head down, “I’m sorry Sergent, sometimes I don’t know, either.”

At present, Lestrade had no other leads and there hadn't been a fire in these last few months. He was hoping the fires would just dry up and he would not have to deal with it again. Lestrade also knew that was unlikely, because fire setters usually escalate, not the other way around. 

What the hell.

"OK, tell me what you know."

“Well I have spent considerable time in the university library researching pyromania and from what I have determined, there are certain behaviors that are likely to indicate if a person has an obsession with fire.”

“And," he continued, "Our suspect is actually playing with fire, possibly using a propellant, such as hair spray on her arms and then lighting it on fire and quickly putting it out under the sink in the loo before it causes any damage.”

“How could you sort that out?” Lestrade stared at Sherlock.

“She has mild first degree burns on her arms, as well as no arm hair at all on her forearms. She could be playing with fire in her room, the loo, outside or something.”

“So, how do you propose we catch the fire starter?”

“How the hell do I know? That’s why I came to you in the first place. I can’t do your job for you!” The events of the last few days were catching up to Sherlock.

“Honestly, Lestrade, if you could just interview her, she might just confess. You know, notoriety or something. She might be proud of her work.”

The Sergent looked at him blankly.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know how a pyromaniac thinks, I thought you were the criminal investigator here!” Sherlock threw up his hands.

“Has your staff even interviewed anyone during this investigation, Sergent?”

“It would be highly irregular for me to discuss an ongoing criminal investigation with a teenager from the local university.” Lestrade tried to maintain his composure. 

Sherlock rubbed his eyes. "I'm going to add only one thing, and that’s its final exams soon, and that'll ratchet up the pressure on all of the students, including the fire setter. I’m leaving.”

“It would be wise of you to just take my advice, Sergent.” Sherlock got up and walked towards the office door. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m right.” Sherlock left.  
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Sherlock walked back the 2 miles to the university. 

When Sherlock walked into his room, he saw boxes, as Victor was packing. His side of the room was stripped. He did not ask Sherlock where he had been all night. 

He was smiling, “My dad got transferred back to America, I’m leaving.”

Sherlock just looked at him. 

“And I’m sorry--- again. Look, I’d still like to be friends. Sherlock, I mean, if we can. Please. I’d like to write to you, or maybe you could come to the US and see me sometime?” 

Victor looked so hopeful, with those clear, sincere blue eyes, white teeth and open expression on his face.

Liar.

Sherlock did not have words for this. He did not want to know, nor did he care, how Victor was going to finish up the last remaining weeks of the term. 

Sherlock heard his own voice speaking but it sounded very far away. “Good luck, Victor. Sure, maybe.” He managed to say.

Sherlock smiled, but his smile did not go all the way up to his eyes.

As Sherlock stood there and watched Victor leave, his heart was in his shoes, and he thought he might have bumped it with his toe.


	18. The Sting

Sergent Greg Lestrade of New Scotland Yard decided to set up a sting. With the approval of his supervisor, he planted a very young-looking but experienced female investigator at the university, posing as a student. Wearing a wire, she befriended Nataile, who ultimately did disclose that she has set the fires. After her arrest, as they could not admit the recorded evidence, because it was obtained illegally. But Natalie readily admitted her involvement, as she was indeed proud of her accomplishments and fire-setting expertise, just as Sherlock supposed. She went to jail.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
No one but Molly became concerned. Most people would not notice that they had not seen Sherlock in a few days, but Molly wasn’t most people. She decided to stop by his room and see if he was in. 

She knocked at Sherlock’s door, but there was no answer. She hesitantly put her hand on the doorknob and turned. It was open. She poked her head in, the room was dark.

“Sherlock?” She could not make out anything in the darkened room. She opened the door wider. Molly heard rather than saw, a person rustle in the bed opposite. 

“Sherlock, it’s Molly.” She began tentatively. “Are you decent?”

“No.” 

Thank God, Molly thought, he answered. 

As she advanced into the room, she saw a lump on the bed, wrapped completely in blankets. 

“Hey, I’m coming in.” she warned. “You haven’t been……… to class…. in 3 days and I wanted……. to check up on you. If you need my notes…….” and she stopped short, right beside the bed.

“What’s that smell?” Molly asked. 

“Formaldehyde.”

“Why?”

“Well there’s nothing like the smell of formaldehyde in the morning.”

Silence.

“Relax. I wasn’t going to drink it, Molly. That’s what you were going to ask.”

Molly did not want to admit just how far her concern for him reached. “Um…Sherlock, if there’s anything I can do…..”

“No.” he sat up and the blankets dropped off. He leaned his back against the wall as he sat on the bed, blankets pooling around his lap.

Molly turned on the small bedside lamp and saw that the other bed was empty, no sheet, no blanket, no pillow and it hadn’t been made up. Molly did not know what happened, just that Something happened and Victor was gone. There were no books on the bed, no notes taped to the walls, as she was used to seeing in the room of her brilliant, unstoppable friend. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “I just might take you up of the offer of the notes, thanks.” Molly sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m OK, Molly, thanks. I think I’ll just need some….time.”

“Hey Sherlock, they caught the fire-setter and you’ll never believe who it was.”

Sherlock had his head back against the wall. His eyes were nearly closed, he looked at Molly through his eyelashes and she saw a small glint there. 

“I just might.” he said.


	19. Once more, with feeling

Lestrade showed up a few days later to thank Sherlock personally. He made sure not to come by the residence hall in a police car. He did not want to panic students, or to have anyone think Sherlock was in any trouble, because quite the opposite was true.  
Lestrade honestly did not know what to say. The fire-setting at this point had not caused much damage, but given the volatility of anyone with that sociopathic profile, escalation could have happened at any time. Lestrade had Sherlock to thank for not only helping him break this case, but for quite possibly saving lives.  
Sherlock accepted Lestrade’s thanks uncharacteristically quietly.  
```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
During the final week of school, Molly and Mike annoyingly stopped by Sherlock's room on a regular basis to let him know about the parties and the end of year events that they knew he wouldn’t attend anyway. Seb was hanging around a lot more than previous as well. Having Sebastian around was good for drugs, and Sherlock was never in want. It helped to dull the hurt somewhat. Seb always had something and was more than willing to share. Sherlock could not quite muster up the energy at present to go to Mycroft to ask him to loosen his purse strings. 

Sherlock did not make rounds to say any goodbyes. Mike and Molly asked him to promise to write. He did not plan to write to anyone, actually hoping he’d forget about everyone, even people he liked. 

He would not stay in the company of his brother for one minute in the London apartment. He had already called his Maime and was on his way to Paris. Mycroft and Mummy were aware. He was determined to spend time in a few choice dark underground discotheques, despite the noise. And the people. No summer classes this time.

With everything packed up, boxes had already been sent ahead. He said good bye to Molly and Mike wishing them a good summer break. Molly knew he wouldn’t write. 

Walking out of the building, Sherlock noticed that almost all the students were gone, the corridors quite empty. Sebastian was the last person he ran into in the hallway. 

“Hey, Sherlock, have a good summer.”

“Yeah you too, Seb.”

Before they continued down the hall, Seb turned and said, “Hey, Sherlock, you know……” he smiled, but also looked quite serious at the same time. Faltering and stopping, Seb put his head down and looked at his shoes. “I, um, it would be ok, you know, if you liked me.”

Sherlock could answer him with no more than stunned silence. He hesitated and the silence grew until he said, “Well, um, Yes, I do like you Sebastian, you are a fine…. fellow.” And he smiled. Get me out of this wasteland, Sherlock thought. He wanted to be alone. 

“Oh no,” Seb said. “I mean, if you liked me, like you liked Victor, you know, that would be OK, you know, by me.” Seb smiled again. 

Sherlock was surprised. 

Sherlock could not answer right away. He was stunned. He hesitated and looked at his shoes. He hoped his mouth was not hanging open. 

“Oh,” Seb said smiling, “You don’t have to answer right away, just…..think about it. See you in the fall.”

Seb walked away. Maybe not such a wasteland after all. 

Sherlock walked out of the residence hall. Onto France. Vive le difference.


End file.
